Patient A
by Tendo Rei
Summary: Just a little visit to the doctor...


Patient A

_Disclaimer: I don't own nuthin' but my bag of double negatives._

* * *

"How are you today, patient A?"

"I'm good doc, yourself?"

The psychiatrist chuckled. "I feel fine."

"Heh heh, fine." The patient grinned widely. "Well I feel _better_ than fine, I feel _GREAT_."

"Really; so you're happy with the dosage we're giving you?"

"Hey, you give me this much of _anything _and I'm happy." The patient giggled and slid down in his seat.

The psychiatrist took a moment to straighten the pens on his desk.

"Have you been having any dreams, patient A?"

"Nope nope nope, nothin' that would be of interest to anyone."

The psychiatrist looked up in mild surprise. "None whatsoever?"

"Well, I've been dreaming, sure, but not the kinda dreams that tell you anything important. Not the falling-off-a-cliff dreams or dreams where I'm naked at the opera or something like that."

"Now now, I'll decide whether a dream is of any psychological importance or not. Most dreams show insight into your psyche; whether or not they are, _ahem_, 'exciting'."

The patient shifted again. "I had a dream where I was walking down the hall in my old house."

"Was there a sense of…_apprehension_?"

"No." The patient's face scrunched in thought. "I was just…walking. Down the hall. I got in bed with my wife and laid down."

"Anything after that?"

"No." He turned to the doctor and grinned again. "What'd I say, huh? Pretty boring."

"Contextually, yes. You _do_ remember…"

"My wife is dead? Yeah, she died before I came here. I remember."

"Good. No relapses, I see?"

"Nope, doc." The patient's mouth went into a slack grin. "I still have the scars from last time."

"Now, you didn't really mean it when you clawed the guard's face, did you?"

"No, doc. I wasn't feeling much myself that day…'course, that was _before_ you put me on the Tryptocane."

"Medicine makes all of the difference." The doctor snuck a glance at his patient, who was grinning up at the ceiling. "How is your hydrotherapy coming along?"

"Wha, you mean when they hose me down on Thursdays?"

"Now patient A, you know we all want you to get well, don't you?"

"Oh yeah, that's why you pump me fulla drugs, that's why I get beaten with clubs regularly, that's why we have this bi-weekly mind fu-"

"Patient A, I think you've had a little too much medication. I'll lower it by a few milligrams."

"Lower it?" He laughed. "That's what's keeping me so happy here! I used to think the only way to live was to make decision after decision, every single day, 364, 24/7; and, why look at me now! I'm much happier here, especially when you pump me full of joy juice."

"But we wouldn't want you to get addicted, Tryptocane has a track record of severe nerve damage when taken over large periods of time-"

"You know something doc? I like you."

The psychiatrist looked surprised and amused. "Thank you."

"No, I really mean it. And under this drug, I really, _really_ mean it. You're like my best friend. When the guards came in that one night, you pulled them off-"

"_Yess_, well," He coughed into his hand. "I wish I could've gotten there sooner."

"Yeah before they…you know something else doc?"

"What, patient A?"

"I don't think I ever wanna come off this drug. That would be awful".

"That's a very sad thing to say, patient A. Why?"

"Why d'you say that?"

"It's my job to care."

"No, it's your job to _listen_." His patient turned, giving him a wide smile. "That's the other thing about you, doc, you _care_. More than any of the rest."

His doctor hemmed and hawed. "Well, I, really-"

"No, I mean it. Most other shrinks keep people at arm's length. You're not afraid to get too close."

"That depends entirely upon your perception."

"Ahhh, we're back to the professional answers. Well, I don't want off this drug for one reason…it'd be harder to live with the memories later than living with it now…and I don't wanna go back to the person I was."

"Why?"

"I think he's dead… and if he isn't, I don't wanna see him. And I don't want him to see me." He rubbed his eyes like a tired toddler and looked around.

"Y'know, I remember havin' an office a _lot_ like this once…"

Silence blanketed doctor and patient alike for a few moments, the metronome kept on the desk ticked on hypnotically. Finally, the psychiatrist shifted and sighed, looking at his patient almost guiltily.

"I'm afraid that's all the time we have." He said. "Would you like me to walk you back to your room, instead of the guards?"

Patient A turned to look at him with druggy astonishment. "Really?"

"And I think I'll recommend that you sleep without restraints tonight, you seem far better self-contained now."

A slow smile spread over his face. "_Doc_…"

"You seem unwilling or unable to resist treatment anymore, and I think we can avoid another scene like a month ago. The dosage is sufficient, for now, and-"

"Doc!" Before he could even react, patient A swept him into a bear hug. A number of emotions, fear, guilt, nausea, and shock crossed his face; but a moment later he returned the hug slightly.

"_Come on now_," He murmured in his ear, "_Let's go_."

He walked down the halls with his arm around patient A's shoulders, coaxing him past the guard posted at the hallway junction, guiding him all the way back to his room.

It was now equipped with a viewing window, as well as wall restraints and a drain in the floor. In the past patient A had been very opposed to treatment; the previous outburst had not been the first. But now the patient hummed quietly and off-tune to himself while the doctor slipped his arm off and opened the door, quickly replacing it to usher him in.

Once there, patient A sat down on his three-quarters of a century old bed and grinned, bouncing slightly.

"Can't thank you enough, doc." He said, his body movement jiggling the crusted leather restraints that had left his wrists permanently scarred.

"Don't mention it." The doctor smiled, still uncomfortable with such emotion. He drew away to lock the patient in his room, but was stopped by a soft "Doc?"

He turned around warily. Patient A looked at him with cautious hope.

"Will I ever be better, doc?"

"_I don't know_." The voice emanating from his throat was gravelly, and felt like it was coming from someone else.

"_I don't know_."

After a final "Night!" he closed the door, turning the sequence of locks and walking away. While leaving he noticed Nancy, who had been a nurse in ward B, slouched against the wall, mumbling and stroking something.

"Nancy," he asked in his softest voice, "May I see?"

Her eyes rolled in his direction, the white of the left eye slightly discolored as the result of her "treatment".

"_Caaaane_." She choked around her thick tongue. "…'_Octer Caane_…"

"Yes, Nancy, it's Doctor Crane, can you show me what you have there?" He held out his hand expectantly.

Nancy giggled wetly and laid a yellowed piece of gauze on his palm. It was spotted with green and smelled faintly of sulfur.

"Thank you Nancy, now get back to electrotherapy, okay? Doctor Strange doesn't like it when you wander off, remember?"

She gurgled like a baby, foaming slightly. Jonathan Crane took her arm gently; remembering to grab the left as the right bore the Joker's fleshy handiwork. He led her out of the ward, where the formerly esteemed Dr. Arkham slept in his moth-eaten cell, dreaming nothing.

* * *

_Author's Note: this was an experimental "inmates take over Arkham" idea that I wanted to try. Tryptocane, of course, does not exist; it's a portmanteau of Monocane, from __The Invisible Man__, and Tryptophan, the thing in turkey that makes you sleepy. I wanted to branch out into more psychological horror in this category, it just…fits. I might write a companion piece to this soon. Salute!_


End file.
